¡Hola a todos!

Once again, I commence with a small apology: after a wonderful birthday week in which the messages of felicitations have been flowing thick, fast and across a range of days, it seems that in my last blog even I joined the trend and forgot the actual day of my birth (thanks for pointing this out to me Dad). The reason for the apparent error is that I wrote the blog on 29 June, the day after my birthday but, I had no opportunity to post it until some two days later, when I forgot to change the initial paragraph to correct the references to dates. So, I hope this clears up the confusion I am sure has been shared by everyone and not simply myself…

Let’s rewind, as ever, and get down to business. Cam and I arrived in Arequipa late in the evening – sometime around midnight – and did so having pulled our usual trick of declining to book accommodation in advance (it seems then that I am not the only young male in South America making a bad habit of this). Such laziness (some might see it as prudent foresight, as one is then able to check potential hostels on the spot) does not usually generate problems but, in Arequipa, we were left well and truly red-faced. An hour of fruitless searching, driven by taxi down quiet, cobbled streets, winding past shop facades, churches and expensive-looking hotels dented morale considerably and formed a less-than-ideal introduction to Peru’s strongly independent second city. It did not help matters that our driver was useless; seemingly he had a truly terrible knowledge of the city centre and needed extensive guiding from Cam and his ‘Lonely Planet’. After our first two choices of accommodation – alright then, our only two choices of accommodation (such optimism) – had turned us away, our delightful driver decided to take matters into his own hands, transporting us half a block to a quiet, sombre location, where it soon transpired that he and the hotel-owner were friends and rooms were fifty soles per night, each. Such a price, approximately ten British pounds, is higher than either of us had previously paid in Puno and the place looked worthy of a far lower valuation: we declined, exasperated, and continued our search on foot. Eventually, after two further failures, we found a small, subdued hotel that was capable of housing us for the night and for a far more reasonable price than that offered above. We settled down to a night of restorative sleep, breaking in upon silent supposition of what the city might contain, waiting to be discovered over the following days.

We rose to a bustling metropolis, the quaint, mosaic streets crammed with bodies going about their daily habits; some wearing well-cut suits and carrying importance-bestowing briefcases, others hunkered down on street-corners, over various wears of a different sort, brandishing skewers, sweets, hats and all other manner of knick-knacks at those passing hurriedly by. A short walk brought us to the Plaza de Armas, invariably the main square of any Peruvian urban centre, just as with Chile previously. As plazas go, this was quite spectacular, framed on three sides by arched colonnades supporting an array of restaurants, cafes and bars overlooking the central area below, shops of all kinds nestled in the shelter provided between the pillars at street-level. The final, most impressive side of the square was dominated by the city’s cathedral, a magnificent, ornate structure, even from the outside, with eye-catching buttresses sweeping out from the two ends of the building towards the plaza’s interior, producing fabulous walkways and forming the two sides of an iron-rod fenced forecourt leading up to the main entrance. The square itself was filled with exotic palm-trees, a modest central fountain and countless benches, occupied by a broad cross-section of both the local community and visitors from afar. Cam and I strolled easily around the plaza’s perimeter, any lingering ill memories of the previous night swiftly dissipating from our minds. Expensive boutique shops and eateries crowded in upon us as the realization of the sentiment shared by all guidebooks towards this city began to sink in: Arequipa is an expensive city, a wealthy city. It boasts a strong, primarily tertiary economy with a healthy contribution from the tourist sector and a matching pride towards its renowned independent streak. In a country that has always been strongly susceptible to the lure of far-left politics, Arequipeñans have maintained a staunchly conservative stance and public opinion here can often run counter to that felt in most other parts of the nation, including the bureaucratic centre and capital, Lima, with which Arequipa shares a complicated, oftentimes uneasy relationship. On our final full day in the city, Cam and I finally found time to visit the infamous ‘La Tradicion Arequipeña’, a restaurant located far along the street boasting the best alternatives to eating in the city centre, a short taxi-ride away from the heart of the city. This place boasts a truly rich array of typical Peruvian fare, including the world-(in)famous ‘cuy’ (Guinea pig), ‘rocoto relleno’ (Peruvian pepper stuffed with mince and vegetables) and ‘ceviche’ (raw fish, seasoned in lemon juice for hours, during which time the flesh is slightly cooked by the acidic fruit’s liquids). Cam and I tried the second two but, alas, ‘cuy’ was not included on the set menu for which we plumbed. It was at the end of our meal that Cam reminded me of a quaint story related in his guidebook, which stated that this eatery was so proud of Arequipa’s independent streak that it even offered mock-passports to its customers! Never ones to pass up the opportunity of a freebie, and certainly not one of such inherent cultural worth, we pressed our waitress about the matter and were thus able to procure our very own Arequipeñan passports, stamped with the restaurant’s logo, a superb memento of our time in this fabulous city.

I rush ahead of myself; Arequipa remains to be explored. Returning that first morning to our first-choice of accommodation from the previous night, we succeeded in booking a room there for the following days and so spent the rest of the time before lunch transferring our bags to our new abode. The hostel was set back from the bustling street, centered on a shaded, tranquil courtyard, the rooms opening out into this communal area and placed on three levels, topped with a roof terrace offering spectacular views over the city’s skyline and an area for drying clothes. The hostel was also located directly opposite, arguably, Arequipa’s foremost attraction, a fantastic Dominican monastery that even today is home to a small collection of practising nuns. It was to this place that Cam and I came the following day, determined to make the most of our time inside after paying a rather steep entry fee. El Monasterio de Santa Catalina was really very special. Secluded, contemplative walkways abounded, twisting away into a labyrinthine complex quite cut off from the noise, aggravation and aggression of the outside world, a place to lose and then rediscover oneself. Peaceful, cool colonnades looked in upon courtyards promoting solitude and reflection, yielding tiled, mosaic floors and an array of lively plants to combat the stillness of the scene. Turning back towards the colonnades, one could make out the sometimes faint, sometimes clear but, always intricate, lovingly compiled frescoes lining the upper walls providing the backdrop to the breezy corridors. Walking the cobbled pathways, I felt a great sense of contentment; rounding a corner, to be met by a break in the passageway, to see the deep blue, azure sky, contrasting so spectacularly with the purity of the white-washed stonework of the monastery’s walls, I felt elation. We explored the riches of the site for nearly four hours, often surprised and delighted by what we found, including rooms filled with artwork inspired by religious motifs, displaying a variety of styles, including those of the famous Cusco school of art, native to Peru and characterized by shapes and forms inspired by the European masters but, complimented by the indigenous people’s love for bright colours and strident scenery. I shall never be an art expert; nonetheless, I know what I like and these pieces were interesting in their differences – as well as similarities – to other art I have seen back home in Europe but, I was not very inspired I must admit. Far more powerful for me was the ambiance of the site, the moods created by the delicate plays of light upon the scene and the austere dwellings of the inhabitants themselves. The monastery is a city within one; self-sufficient and entirely at peace with its continued existence. One of the earliest Christian centres in all of South America (the Spanish first arrived in Peru from Mexico across the sea, lead by their great general, Pizarro, in the sixteenth century) I thoroughly enjoyed my time here; even the cafe we stopped in for a quick drink and a slice of cake (a surely ominous sign of the times to come that I shared with Cam) captured a beautiful feeling of restorative, contemplative thought, hidden behind a high wall from the walkway outside, entered into through a small archway and boasting some of the best chocolate cake I have eaten in a long time. The monastery further yields stories of a particularly pious resident of the seventeenth century, Sor (Sister) Ana, who was reputed to work miracles, prophesy accurately and was canonized by the Vatican under Pope John Paul II some years ago. To visit her rooms, to see the simplicity with which she lived, the Spartan existence, in the face of chocolate cake and all manner of other pleasures, was humbling indeed yet, I could not help but feel relief to emerge from that pious cell, back into the light of day and into the present: perhaps I am misguided but, I am happy.

Emerging from the tender embrace of the monastery, back into the frenetic pace of city-life in the mid-afternoon was much like being shaken forcefully awake after a deliciously comforting period of rest; one in which I could recall instantly the pleasant content of my dreams and the warm feeling within me that they imbued. The afternoon did bring with it a pleasant experience as well, however; the opportunity to finally, some two months after our first parting, catch up with Sebastiaan, who had spent far more time than I in Bolivia and was now in Arequipa to embark, belatedly, upon some Spanish tuition. It was a happy reunion indeed and we were soon laughing raucously, reminiscing over “old times” and recounting independent stories highlighting our subsequent experiences. That evening saw we three head out into Arequipa, led by Sebastiaan our guide, to explore the delights of the city by night. We ate, drank and made merry, finally winding up in a small yet energetic nightclub, where the boys encouraged me to become better acquainted with the friendly, interesting locals. It was a great night out and we stumbled home in the early hours, intoxicated by Arequipa, its inhabitants and its exciting, secretive ways.

The following days saw Sebastiaan dedicate himself to his Spanish classes, while Cam and I busied ourselves catching up on the cultural activities that Sebastiaan had already experienced in his first few weeks in and around the city. So it was that Cam and I came to book an excursion to the world-famous Colca Canyon (reputed, though far from conclusively, to be the deepest of its kind anywhere in the world and twice as large as the Grand Canyon). In any case, our curiosities were aroused and we headed to the canyon’s nearest access town on an overnight bus one weeknight, leaving Seb to his books and other city delights I am sure.

¡Saludos a todos!

David xxx